


Faster Than the Speed of Chemo

by manaisbasterd



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Cancer, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-08-31
Updated: 2011-09-23
Packaged: 2017-10-23 07:31:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manaisbasterd/pseuds/manaisbasterd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles has a brain tumor. And Tart and Vickers parties were apparently on Erik's course requirements. Who knew?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Congratulations

**Author's Note:**

> A little AU, that has a focus on cancer. It's funny, as well as, desperately as trying to be respectful. I can only pray it comes off that way. More detailed author notes will come in later chapters. Have fun!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING POV has homophobic and overall questionable language.

_**Faster Than the Speed of Chemo**_  
 **Title:** Faster Than the Speed of Chemo (1/?) **Author:** manaisabasterd **Word count:**   2382 **Warnings:** PG13 for now. AU. Modern Times. **Pairing:** Erik/Charles. **Summary:** Charles has a brain tumor. And his roommate really needs his own TiVo.     **Notes:** First post on livejournal. hopefully it's welcomed

I have a brain tumor.

That's what the doctor just said. I imagine him smiling, and giving me a ribbon reading 'congratulation'.

One that grows from time to time as well. The best sort of tumor, the grand prize, the Pulitzer, the Eisenhower, the Oscar of tumors. Meaning I have cancer. Cancer. Until this point I only was a Cancer, now I have it as well.

Pronouncing it with more of a "k" sound seems appropriate, more shocking right?

"Do you need some time alone?" Before leaving the good man politely points out the tissue box covered in red cheeked santa clauses. Maybe he just needed sometime alone. Must be hard to do this all day long. Ruining peoples lives, and stuff. Maybe I should cry. That seems more appropriate than planning out my next class with the Community College kids. Seems more appropriate than wondering if my brief on the genome will be informative as well as thrilling, and might even inspire some of the younger in the class into living lives dedicated to science. And thus improve the human condition.

Probably not.

"Cancer."

Did I TiVo The Amazing Race?

"Cancer."

Need to tell Raven that mom's package arrived, with all those nasty Swedish cookies she likes from IKEA.

"Fuck."

Will I lose my hair?

* * *

You'd think they would call you cab after the whole ordeal, or least sit you down and force you to call your mother. I couldn't even ask my chances. Walking these three blocks never felt more painful. And it's really my fault, I could of called Raven or Hank or even Erik, and had a perfectly good ride.

Maybe the walk was a good thing, I got to pick up some groceries from a produce stand, and meet a lovely oriental lady who kept calling me Doctor Who. And most importantly, I came up with a good excuse to where I was for my flatmate.

"There's this new flavor of frozen yogurt at that place, ya know, down the street. And the line was monstrous. I waited a good two hours for a flavor described as chocolate dipped watermelon. It may of been possible genius, but probably not. At least it was free, right?"

"Sounds terrible." Erik than resumed his tele watching, seemingly entranced by a program featuring people in real life doing sort of real things while never having to go to work or go to school or talk to their parents or have brain tumors.

"Right. Absolutely disgusting. Couldn't tell them that though. It seemed like the shop owner really thought it was a fantastic idea."

"That sounds like you. Your altruistic ways devolving mankind slowly into taste deprived monkeys." He's bought it. "Want me to cook tonight?"

"Isn't that a bit domestic for your taste."

Erik shrugs his shoulders, and takes the groceries from my hands. "Since your sudden transformation into a menopausal woman, I wouldn't want you to get dizzy and end up with your face on a pan."

"It's not that bad." I hope he didn't notice my voice broke. "I mean, really, just a passing thing."

Rolling his eyes he said while simultaneously navigating our cramped kitchen. "Yeah, after the first few weeks of your pregnancy the vomiting should stop as well."

I laugh. The image of Mr. Ed, after crushing a small animal underneath is hooves, laughing surfaces in my thoughts, and I immediately stop. I need to stop. Erik is quick about these sort of things, and I was acting as if I was hiding a body. Or a brain tumor. "What the hell was that?"

"Just a little off. Stayed up all night studying."

"Or doing drugs." Erik looks at me, and this is becoming unusual. This is not the impersonal and generally light Erik that is usually around, this is the dead serious one. The one whose a bit melodramatic and bit tragic, but mostly full of genuine concern. "Did you get dumped or something? Failed a test? Realized being professor is one hell of a boring job?"

"Told ya, late night of mathematic calculations and there was a really horrid marathon of Jersey Shore that I just couldn't turn off. It all added up." I need to get out of here. "Call me when dinner's ready?"

Dashing across the floor into my room, I than proceed to rip printer paper for thirty minutes into strips, and when dinner does come around I have no appetite. And now all the symptoms make some sense.

The hindsight bias starts to kick in, and I should of know. Constant presences of nausea. The quick white lights in my left eye followed by migraines, my right lobe trying to warn me something was wrong. Lack of concentration and forgetfulness that came along with the destruction of my brain. It was stress from approaching graduation, and still not sure what the subject of my dissertation should be. But when I could barely pick up a textbook, and those are heavy mind you, but being twenty five year I should be able to bench like four of those suckers, I was certainly a little worried if not peeved.

"You don't like my food?" Erik points to the state of my untouched plate.

I shake my head, and take a big scoopful of the peas. "Three years of eating it and its almost bearable."

"Good. Wouldn't want to spoil you." He smiles, and god damn, it throws me. I try another bit of peas, and its going down fine. "Well, anymore."

Becoming a bit braver, I try the grilled chicken. It's plain and spartan. No butter. He likes the illusion that we are poor. Well, he is and he just won't let me pay for anything. "Ready for classes morrow?"

"I suppose. You gave me an 'A' right?"

"Only because you deserved it." The chicken has stayed, and now I'm officially confidant going for the Caesar smothered salad.

"You rounded it up a whole point."

This time I smile, and I'm sure there is lettuce stuck between my teeth. "Well, you weren't able to attend the last lecture, with that welding job uptown, so I thought it would be a bit-"

Unfair. Really. This all is.

I'm up and running towards the bathroom, and my plate had hit the floor, and I ignore it. The bathroom is downstairs right next to the door outside and it's never been really inconvenient when sober until now.

Vomiting sucks worse than suck. "You okay?"

Obviously not. "I'm terrific." It echoes throughout the toilet bowl, and I'm a little pissed cause Erik didn't clean it and it's his turn. "Fabulous, in fact."

Sighing, and than he marches out of the bathroom. And I'm tempted to rest my forehead against the seat, and just fall asleep. "Go see a fucking doctor."

Been there and done that.

* * *

"Open your books to 154, and look at the second diagram illustrating the gene." Opening the book myself, I don't look at them. Just can't. Horrifying really, all their little beady eyes scanning me. Good thing the community college has relatively small classes. "Delightful, isn't it?"

"Riveting, really." If it didn't suggest that I was describing a badly illustrated representation of a strand of genetic material into a centerfold, and practically wanking off to it in front of the class, I'd wouldn't be peeved.

"Please refrain from interrupting me, Mr. Lehnsherr." I see Sean's hand instantly recoil itself. "Oh, no. It's not like that. Go ahead Sean."

"I was just wondering what time your doing the study group Wednesday?" Wednesday. Wednesday is the day I have to go back to the doctor to discuss the options. Or hopefully tell me he's mistaken, and maybe had been drinking too much and just assumed that the dark spot on the x-ray was tumor. Maybe even tell me that it was just a adnormalilty in my brain lending me superpowers like telepathy. Probably not.

"Actually, we will have to move the day to Thursday if that can work with the majority. I have some unexpected things to take care of." I wish Erik hadn't looked so surprised. Or that Raven decided that waitressing wasn't a career, and had joined the class I would be TAing. Or that Hank, my lab partner, decided he wanted to see me in action.

"What are you doing than, Charles?" Raven never raised her hand no matter how much I insisted that I didn't want people to think I unfairly favorited her. Even though I sort of do. "You've haven't mentioned anything."

What am I? Some sort openbook. True, I do share close to everything. "Nothing important. Some school stuff, need to finish a paper."

"We had a paper?" Hank looks confused, and a bit terrified. "I don't remember anything, oh shit, don't tell me-"

"Oh, no. It's for my seminar on how the apple in the Garden of Eden was most likely a pomegranate." Yeah, the one class we are not taking together. My head starts aching in the effort to maybe mind trick them into believing me.

I hear Alex laugh. "Sounds pretentious as fuck."

"And irrelevant." The Darwin added.

"That's graduate school for you." My chuckle sounds more like a giggle. I think I may be losing it. And why isn't Moria here, she's the one whose paid to teach. "Well, let's finish up with the current chapter and than we'll end early."

Each page goes by at the speed of my own stumbling consciousness. And I try not to look up as I'm talking at first, but than realize that would be abnormal. So, I spend my time looking at students like Angel, and sometimes Sean, that probably wouldn't notice my behavior. At one point, I read the same sentence from my notes three times.

* * *

"God, I'm exhausted." Erik stretches his arms over his head. "Nap before work, I guess. What you up to tonight?"

"Just going to look through some pap-oh, god-I need to buy Raven her birthday present still." I stop in mid step, and shake my head. And than get bumped into on the busy sidewalk.

"Yeah, about that. Need help with that surprise party on Thursday?"

"What party?"

"The one that's a surprise." Erik looks at me. "What the hell are you doing on Wednesday than?"

Now I get it. "Oh, yeah the surprise party. Yeah, I'll need help." A lot of fucking help.

For the first time in the three years I've know Erik, I hate him for being quick. Figured I was gay the first week we knew each other, and that I was closeted Trekkie the second. But mostly, I hate him for dropping the subject. It makes the three blocks back to our apartment seem awkward and dramatic. He's such a drama queen.

* * *

Hawaiian seems a little prepubescent. But Vegas comes off as trashy. Maybe a costume party? Nah, cause than Hank would were his Einstein costume and Erik has overdone the Bond getup. They could do a hospital getup, where the girls are naughty nurses, and the men are well- Don't go there.

I ended deciding on just buying a keg. And telling everyone we are suffering through a Tart and Vicars bash. Twenty-one and kegger seems appropriate. Inviting all her friends through max texts and emails is easy enough, so is booking out the little bar on the corner. But getting Erik off my back is hard, and it takes me to almost thirty minutes before my appointment with the good doc to convince him he should go pick up the keg.

"So about my chances?" That sounds weird. Chances. The last time I asked that was when I was interviewing for my TAing position.

Doctor Shaw looks like he's done this a lot, and I'm amazed he can stay so sincere. "It's good. Well, for how cancer tends to be." Good. Good. "To put it blunt, there's a fifty fifty recover rate in other patients with similar conditions, age, treatment. That's really great news, considering that we caught it pretty early."

Yeah, great news. Great. Tony the Tiger great. The U.K. dominating the world of football great. The idea of making our Tarts and Vicars surprise party gender swapped great. "Great."

"We will have to start treatment immediately."

"Great."

The doctor lays out all of the possible routes to go, experimental treatment, the schedule, the side effects, surgery, other hospitals but makes sure that I know that they have a great program, support groups, breaking it to family, to friends, insurance they take, insurance they don't take, payment plans, what to wear to treatment, hygiene, even shampoo, and than gives me pamphlets so I remember.

Than pats my shoulder. "Fifty fifty is great news."

* * *

 **Hate it, love it. Feel offended, go ahead and tell us. We love it all. And review. Please. It's the pretty kin**


	2. Laughing at the Blind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter from the point of view of Erik our actually written by another author, who does not have an account yet. Boo.

Laughing at The Blind

There's only one entrance in this place. Of course there's the backroom entrance just behind the counter, but the effort to get there wouldn't be worth the revelation that it probably leads to a dead end. That just leaves the entrance in the front. No windows and far too many people. Probably somewhere around twenty in this cramped space. But that's just a guess.

Malls always did make my skin crawl.

What do you even buy a 21 year old that has it all? I just came to the bookstore out of habit. I don't even know Raven all that well. Just what Charles has told me and what I've gathered from our interactions. She's smart, but not obviously so. She's attractive, which she is very conscious of.

But her passions and interests? Didn't seem all that important.

I turn round a bookshelf and stumble into the medical section. The doctor pictures on the covers make me rub my jaw. But goddamn it because it shows weakness. And weakness is unacceptable. Scanning the merchandise, a title catches my eye. 50 Cocktail Recipes and Hangover Remedies.

Educational.

Practical.

Humorous.

Perfect.

I'm sure she'll appreciate it, and Charles, that faggot, will benefit from it as well.

My feet are tapping. I'm giving the people, about six in this line, annoyed looks. It's been a good ten minutes and I'm kicking myself for not allowing for more shopping time. I get up to the register and the cashier looks as annoyed as I do. Probably because he's the only one working in this damned store and it's packed. Probably because people have been giving him hell. His pose is completely defensive, his shoulders squared and face tilted downward.

"Hello sir would you like to apply for a store credit card and get twenty percent off your purchase?" It's mumbled.

"No, thank you."

"That'll be twenty, fifty-seven."

I hand over the cash. It's exact. I don't even wait for my receipt and stroll out hurriedly. I only have fifteen minutes to get downtown and class was going to start soon.

I love motorcycles. The pure adrenaline rush and power boarders on animalistic. It's intoxicating. So are the vibrations that travel up my arms from the internal combustion engine. So is weaving in and out of traffic at law-breaking speeds just so I can get to a biology class.

Ridiculous.

Luckily law enforcement seems lax in this city unless it involves life and death or anything overly dramatic that can become fodder for a rotten reality show.

Oh. Just ran a red light. Good thing traffic in this goddamned place never moves.

Thanks to that I'll get there with two minutes to spare. Adequate time to make a mad dash toward room 302. The flow of those numbers is soothing. 302. Just rolls right off the tongue.

Someone's parked in my spot. Gonna have to confront one of the neighbors.

Now I have to search for parking and cut off a good minute from my two. Good thing I've spent every morning since I turned fourteen jogging. My legs were built for situations like this. Three blocks in one minute? I always did love a challenge.

Sprinting feels good. Gets my limbs pushing their boundaries. Makes me stronger. Relieves my stress.

I'm actually quite impressed with myself. I made it three blocks, two hallways, and one corner in a minute and 15 seconds. Right on time.

"Hey Erik." Raven waves for me to sit to her right, what with Hank already at her left. "That was cutting it pretty close, what were you doing?" My panting's pretty heavy.

"Just getting in my daily exercise." She smiles, and it's absolutely beautiful. "Least I beat Charles. Where is he anyway?"

"Yeah, I don't know, usually he's here prepping for class a good thirty minutes prior, but, I don't know, wouldn't even give me a ride." She looked over at hank and smiled. "Hank had to give me a ride in his Honda."

The damn boy blushed. Actually blushed. It's disgusting. "No problem, you were on the way anyway."

Grow a backbone.

"Sorry, I'm late class I had some business to attend to." Speak of the devil. He looks shaken. Voice sounds tight. A little like last night.

Wonder what's eating him this time. Haven't seen him like this since I caught him watching Star Trek: The Next Generation in his boxers. That was embarrassing for both of us.

He rushes to put down his books and bag, his fingers shaking in their hurriedness. Looks like a cold animal. "Open your books to 154, and look at the second diagram illustrating the gene". The sound of pages turning fills the room and a picture of a double helix stares back up at me. "Delightful, isn't it?"

I snort. "Riveting, really."

"Please refrain from interrupting me, Mr. Lansharr. Oh, no. It's not like that. Go ahead Sean."

"I was just wondering what time you're doing the study group Wednesday?" I decide to ignore Charles's shortness at the moment. Most likely he's suffering from his girlish constitution. I know I am.

"Actually, we will have to move the day to Thursday if that can work with the majority. I have some unexpected things to take care of." That catches my attention. Far as I knew Charles had absolutely nothing to do Wednesday.

"What are you doing than, Charles? You've haven't mentioned anything."" Raven says. It's very frank of her. I like it.

"Nothing important. Some school stuff, need to finish a paper." Bullshit.

"We had a paper? I don't remember anything, oh shit, don't tell me-" I start cringing from the desperation in Hank's tone. Really, it's too much.

"Oh, no. It's for my seminar on how the apple in the Garden of Eden was most likely a pomegranate."

That's a lie. He was too hesitant, doesn't even look like he believes it himself. But Hank and the others aren't as perceptive as me. They haven't lived with Charles for three years. Except Raven, but like I said, perception is key.

"Sounds pretentious as fuck." Yes, yes it does.

"And irrelevant."

"That's graduate school for you." Now I'm sure he's lying. His manic giggles are like a polygraph.

"Well, let's finish up with the current chapter and then we'll end early." He's avoiding my eyes. I can feel the annoyance rise up, but it's soon sated with genetic jargon and alleles. Recessive alleles and dominant ones. Widow's peak and green eyes are recessive. Too bad for me. If I want offspring that will resemble me, the safest course would be to mate with a woman with the same attributes. But, a widow's peak on a woman doesn't seem all that attractive. That leaves out my hairline.

Too bad, would've made my children all the more attractive.

I walk with Charles out of room 302. The air's nice.

"God, I'm exhausted." I stretch up my arms, feeling the truth of the statement. Maybe that sprint was a bad idea. Maybe I should've actually sprung for a parking permit at the school. "Nap before work, I guess. What you up to tonight?" I figure I might as well start digging. I want to know what's up with the lying routine.

"Just going to look through some pap-oh, god-I need to buy Raven her birthday present still." He gets bumped by another student. No one ever bumps into me.

"Yeah, about that. Need help with that surprise party on Thursday?"

"What party?" That throws me. I'm pretty sure that's what this was all about.

"The one that's a surprise." I'm giving him a condescending look. He just looks confused. "What the hell are you doing on Wednesday then?"

"Oh, yeah the surprise party. Yeah, I'll need help." He looks away, brooding like the theatrical individual he is.

Our steps are almost match for match. His strides seem reluctant though. The conversations been dropped and he doesn't try to say anything more. Neither do I.

I have nothing to say.

I brush sweat off my face. The heat from the tungsten electrode is stifling. So is the slow pace that I have to work at for safety reasons. But that's the price you pay for being qualified enough to use a GTAW process.

Lorna's working a few benches away. "How long have you been here Lorna?"

"Uhh, since two I think." She's welding together two crossbeams.

"Take a break dammnit. Don't need you collapsing on the torches. This place can't handle anymore workers' comp."

"I'm fine. Stop acting all fatherly. It doesn't suit you." She smiles and it lifts my heart a bit. She reminds me of Ruth.

"Suit yourself. I'm not squeamish. Perfectly fine with scraping your face off that metal."

She turns off the torch. "Ah, fine." She rips off her mask and gloves.

"Glad you saw it my way."

" Jesus, you manage us better than Arty." Joseph comes up from behind and hands me a bottle of water.

"I'm a natural leader, they should promote me." It's a joke. But I actually mean it.

"Don't get such a big head." He pats me on the back and goes back to work. "You're off in ten right? Have a goodnight."

"Yeah you too. Make sure Lorna doesn't run herself into the ground." I strip off my gloves and clean up the bench.

When I get home Charles is in his room. I walk over and open the door.

"Hey watcha-"

"Ah, your home." He jumps and quickly closes his laptop. That's suspicious.

"What are you looking at Charles?"

"Nothing of import."

I cross my arms.

"Goodnight, Erik." The tone is forceful. Very unlike Charles. I walk out and toward my own room.

Probably porn anyway. Or even worse.

One of Alex's research papers.

"A vicars and tarts party?"

"Yes. And I was thinking that it could be switched around, just to give it that extra zap." I roll my eyes.

"Figures you'd change up the gender norms."

"Well Erik, I am after all just dying to dress up like a tart." It's obviously sarcastic. Probably true on some level though.

"What bar are we getting? That Irish place down the street's pretty good, but I doubt they'd welcome a bunch of gussied up coeds."

"Thought of that already. I booked an alcove at a club on 2nd and West. Not too far, and the location promises an array of individuals for flirtation purposes." His brows are going crazy in an up and down motion that's supposed to be suggestive.

"They alright with the keg?"

"Yep, long as we pay a small deposit for it."

"You certainly are prepared."

"Well it is my sister's birthday. Can't let her down on the big two-one." His voice sounds strained again.

"….what'd you get for her?" It's a superficial attempt at keeping the conversation going.

"Hmm? Oh, that's a surprise." He chuckles.

"Can't wait." I settle back into the couch and let it go. I'm not going to indulge him with curiosity. Plus, it would imply that I actually care.

I search through the recordings on our TiVo, glad for this one luxury. Surprised at how I lived so long without satellite.

"Oh god Erik, not another WWII documentary."

"I deal with your obsessions." I gesture toward the poster of Albert Einstein that's framed above the fireplace. "Grant me the same leniency."

He huffs in annoyance, but drops the complaints. "The year is 1939, and war is rising within Eastern Europe…." I don't know why I love these programs so much. My dad collected Nazi memorabilia. I used to wear around the arm bands until mom caught me and started yelling. She told me never to do it again. Nazi's were terrible people.

I focus on the program. I hate thinking about her. It's sentimental, weak. And I am not weak.

"Erik, please turn that off? The genocide is starting to make me feel depressed."

I oblige. Didn't like where my thought were going anyway. I switch over to an episode of Expedition Impossible.

"With the gypsies ahead once again…."

"Why do you like this show so much?"

"You should give it a try Charles; take a break from the Amazing Race. This is infinitely better."

"Why? You like seeing men and women conquer the elements and persevere over odds? Sounds awfully inspiring. Sounds like it's been done."

"You mistake my reasons, Charles. I just like laughing at the blind guy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please keep reading and reviewing. :)


	3. Panties

Death is inevitable, but distant enough not to seem like a true probability. Yeah, comfortable. That's the way I wanted to keep it for a few more years. I was okay with that denial. The same way I was okay with denying the inevitable cancellation of Firefly, as long as I didn't acknowledge it, it wasn't going to happen. Took me by surprise.

And as I pondered death, I shifted through the tub of ladies underwear completely fascinated with the image of Erik in tights. "Sir, do you need any help?"

"Just shopping for my girlfriend." She knows that it's a lie, and it's the light British influence on my accent, hair that's obviously way too neat and the sweater vest paired with Oxford flats that give it away. A gay man buying panties. "Actually, I may need a little help."

She smiles politely, all dimples and freckles. Only the way she shifts from foot to foot tells me she's nervous. I don't even have to be a telepath.

"What's the best way to tell your closest friends you may have brain tumor that may just, well, kill you?"

"Uh." Poor girl looks blown away, and her eyes are bulging. I'm wringing a pink thong in anticipation. She's sweating. "Is this some sort of secret shopper test? Cause this seems pretty harsh if it is, and fucked, and dear Lord-"

"No, not a test. Serious, hypothetical question. Just tell me what you would say?"

This time her smile is no longer polite, it's slightly off and shows way too many teeth. I know she will tell all her friends about the crazed Brit, homosexual panty fiend. "Well, if I thought I was going to live I'd break it too them over tissues, and well, prepare them for it, ya know." Now she's getting into it. "Hint at it beforehand. But if I thought it was going to be one of my last acts on Earth, I'd make it unforgettable, right. Like surprise them. Write it in the sky with airplane smoke, sort of surprise.

I think of my mother's shocked face. Besides the insensitive nature of it all, it could be funny. Far enough. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

"Will that be all?" After checkout I'm going to have to tell her manager of what a insightful employee that's on staff. I then hold up two pair of slightly oversized panties. "What do you think is my color?"

Immediately I decide that this is not the right time to reveal my cancerous secret at the beginning of my study group. Hank already looks devastated. "It's good to see you all."

Indefinite murmurs answer me from a chorus of exhausted undergraduates. The whole class is present. I'm the only TA who agrees to holding optional study sessions. Don't understand why though. I adore it. "It's only two weeks into class, and your already resenting me. Rather pathetic, isn't it?"

"You mean ain't it." Alex corrects me. I'd say challenge from any other person, but I know he's trying to Americanize me. Honestly, besides the accent and the love of football, I'm already there.

"Ain't it?" And so two hours of reading drafts with grammar that was apparently, Americanized, and questions that could of been answered by actually reading the chapter began.

Erik handed me his draft. "This is unusual. Thought me editing it was cheating?"

"There's been a lot of unusual activities taking place lately." He shrugged.

I started skimming his paper, and my feet feel sweaty. What a joke of a nervous tick. Sweaty feet. "Like what?"

"Hm. Just a feeling I can't shake." So he didn't see my computer screen last night. What's more pathetic than getting a brain tumor in your twenties? Searching 'life expectancy of twenty something cancer inflicted'. Than following that search with 'cheap and flirty party games for kegger'. Wouldn't wish that on anybody. "Plus I need you to do all the heavy lifting in the paper, with all the doubles I've been doing at the slave house, haven't had time to even sleep not to mention revise."

I nod my head, and let my eyes wander from the paper long enough to view my sister flirting with my long time lab partner. Dear Lord, Hank, escape now before those curves and pouty lips are the only thing you see after your eyes close. "It's probably good enough even without my help. Your quite smart, Erik."

"Either way, I'd rather have the expert's opinion." He smirks, and it kills me a little. God, why isn't he gay? "Your mother called."

Mother. Mom. Mommie. Shit.

"What did she say?" Haven't even thought about telling her. "More like want?"

Break her poor heart. "Something about how you never call, and how she wishes for a son like me." How could she possible come to terms with this? "One whose handsome, and considerate, and charming." I can't even come to terms with it.

"So a son who she's sexual attracted to?"

"More or less." He snatches the paper out of my hand, and leans over the table. The whisper tickles my ear. "So are strippers appropriate for this party?"

I sigh. "Too expensive for Raven's taste. Feels ashamed we have money. Have to keep the entertainment cost low."

"I suppose we can just strip ourselves." Only if it's just you and me. Alone.

"Your unintentional incestual comments are becoming relatively a bore. Try harder."

"Oh, I can try harder. You bet-"

"Jesus Christ, please just edit my paper Charles." Darwin pushed in front of Erik. "Isn't living together enough?"

No. It really isn't

After thirty minutes of being home alone looking at chemo related horror stories on the internet, I break into the liquor cabinet and become acquainted with some whiskey. It all catches up and I'm laying in my boxers on the couch sipping at the fourth and best tasting glass of the night.

I'm almost certain drinking is not recommended before start of treatment, but is some sort of requirement as well as a health risk. It's okay, I'll vomit it all out later.

"Charles, what's the occasion?" Erik walks through the door, his shirt sweat soaked and face smudged with grim from his welding gig. Dropping his bag, he sits on the far chair sighing deeply.

"It's winter solstice."

"Christmas has come early than."

I don't want to sound drunk. My words will not me slurred around him, and I will make sense. It's my mantra. "It's alwayss Christmess in the Xavier houssehold."

"I see." Erik takes off his shirt and throws it across the room before taking on the glasses conveniently placed on the coffee table and pouring himself a glass of whiskey. "Too bad, I'm a Jew."

I laugh. "Your not even practicing."

He laughs, and takes a sip. "Once a Jew, always a Jew."

This is perfectly logical, so I nod in agreement.

"What brought out this?" Erik gestures to my state of undress, and probably to the half empty bottle. But who knows. "Nervous about your tart outfit? Scared it won't go over well? Ya, know the pink thong, and all."

I nod. Yes, that's all. "I'm very, very nervous about crossdressing cause I was planning on making it into a career choice or something. And if it fails, I'll have to become some sort of geneticist or professor or something else totally boring and without respect." Four glasses down, and I'm probably out for the count.

We stay silent for a while. Erik is probably tired, and my tongue is just heavy and numb. Couch is itchy, and my nakedness feels suddenly inappropriate. "Need water." I try to stand.

"Woah, hang on there, bro." His hand is steadying me from the lower half of my back. Than he pushes me back onto the coach. "I'll just get you a cup, how bout that?"

"Make sure the ice is crushed not cubed." I hate when he rolls his eyes like I won't remember later. "Oh, and used the filtered water from the fridge not the sink water."

"Whatever, princess." He'll probably hate it when I tell him I have a brain tumor, and just happened to not mention it till right now. I call out from across the apartment.

"Erik, what would you do if I told you I was dying?" I frowned. Somehow I have gained the ability to be be nondescript, as well as, not to completely choke at the mention of dying.

"Make sure that you would leave me your impending fortune. Considering I've cooked for you for three years, as well as cleaned up your vomit numerous times, I deserve a little dip into that trust fund of yours." The glass is cold. And the ice clinks together when he hands me it.

Far enough. "Oh, kay."

"Yeah, kay?" Erik sits back into his chair, and I think he's trying to read into my actions by staring. It's probably not working.

"Yes, kay."

"What's wrong, Charles?"

And even though I should tell him, and he really deserves to know cause as he says he has cleaned up vomit from the floor as well as my chin, I just can't. Plastered babble comes out instead. "I just don't know about this dissertation thing. I mean what if being a professor isn't my thing. I mean, I've been thinking like I might be meant for something, else ya know? Like maybe something more artistic and hand's on."

"What? Like pottery, or something?" Erik laughs. "That's was just so fucking gay, ya, don't even know." I frown. "Don't be a faggot, you were meant to teach people who don't really care about your class cause it just isn't relevant to everyday life. It's your thing."

"Thanks." I'm in love with him. Insulting me, and I'm in love with it all. "Wanna watch some TLC?"

"Right on." He gets up, and than plants himself next to me. "Let's watch people eat couch cushions. And at least put a shirt on. We don't need anymore naked man time than we have to."

Women's panties are made to be uncomfortable. I've come to terms with this, because I have never had to wear them. The wedgy as well as the itchy material are constant reminders of my awful party planning, and my distasteful choice of themes. I could of been wearing the comfy priest getup, all black and linen and really quite a practical outfit. But Erik had to wear it to. Worth it. Maybe it's worth it. Maybe.

"Charles, I don't understand why I have to wear a wig." I feel like I fit right in with my ear against my phone, and my feet navigating on there own down the busy sidewalk. Like a young professional on an important business call, that just happens to be really about crossdressing and how I love red wigs. "Isn't part of the humor of a man in a dress, is that it's a man in a dress?"

"Yes, but Raven would love it." And I would get a laugh out of it as well. Not a particularly kinky fellow, but I may dare to say, a boner as well. "So would all of her friends, and no, they are not stupid kids." An man with no legs, and a red wagon tied to the back of his electric wheelchair like a small parade float decorated with veteran memorable holds out his hat for money. "Some are rather smart, well, except for Sean. But he has a good personality. And nice hair." I give him a five. I don't really need lunch. "Anyway, you need a wig."

"I'm not paying for a wig."

I frown. "I'll pay for it."

"That's not how it works." Oh, great time to be macho. Over a wig. "I pay for my own shit. You, know having a job gives me that opportunity."

"If you are implying that I have never had a job-" My phone beeps, and I have another call from an unknown number. "Can you hold for second?"

Before he answers, I switch lines. "Hello, Charles Xavier speaking?"

"It's Sebastien Shaw." Never had I felt a chill at the mention of a name before until that moment. It's like death is calling me in a monotone voice, after probably chatting up some nurses and having a doughnut or two. "Just calling to confirm our appointment for Monday. Make sure your fifteen minutes early, and also, remember to stick to that special diet we had discussed earlier."

"Oh, well, yes." I feel a little ashamed as my clear violations from last night. "Thanks, Dr. Shaw, and-"

"And one more thing," My mumbles apparently don't matter. " Make sure your planning on transportation for outpatient care for Wednesday. We don't want to send you home after brain surgery in a taxi." Considering that was my plan, I don't join in on his little self indulgent laughter at his joke. "Have a good day, Mr. Xavier."

I hangup, on him, and Erik.


	4. What About the Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik's Pov

Chapter 4

This is utterly ridiculous.

The whole thing is a not too clever attempt from Charles to get me into leather and fishnet. Not that I wouldn't look dashing in them, but this outfit just screams impractical. Not to mention that it'll attract a lot of unwanted attention.

I pull at the hot pants I'm wearing. The damned material wriggles into crevices better left alone. I've never been acquainted with the feel of a weggie before, having worn boxer briefs all my life. Not exactly pleasant.

I stare at the wig Charles roped me into getting. It's tacky, not at all convincing having been bought at the local Halloween shop. The red is candy apple and the strands feel like Easter basket grass. The cashier had given me a strange look too. One that not so subtly asked why a grown man was buying a red wig in November while also insinuating that I may be gay. I'm not.

I still bought it anyway. Who knows why I'm indulging Charles. He isn't deserving of it.

I face the mirror. It comes as a shock that I make such an ugly female. Guess my bone structure is too prominent to allow for the soft look that women carry in their faces. Not to mention that my legs are much too hairy and muscled to pull off these fishnet.

It's just so wrong.

Got to admit though, my ass looks nice. That's a given.

"Erik? Are you ready yet? I swear you're taking longer than Raven does when she ready for a date."

I square my shoulders. No worries, you look fabulous Erik, old boy, exactly how you always do. Just gayer.

God. Damn. It. I can't do this.

"Do you perhaps need some help with the panties? I'd be more than happy to assist you…."

"No need. Let's get this over with." Just another weakness to overcome. I open the door.

Charles eyes are bulging slightly and his mouth is parted in awe. How flattering. It certainly is nice to know that I can have this effect on people even in a wonder bra. Then again, maybe it's the wonder bra that's occupying the attention.

Either way, I inwardly sigh in relief.

"Charles, let's go. Stop standing there like an idiot." It's making me feel awkward because I'm enjoying it. What the shit.

"Ah, right." He visibly composes himself and I can't help the satisfied smile.

I give him a once over and laugh. It's just too much.

"Lace Charles? Couldn't you have gotten something less revealing?" His pale ass is practically hanging out.

"The girl at Victoria thought these would be best for my, uh, female friend."

"You have no female friends."

"I beg to differ, there's Moira, and, um, Raven-"

I give him a sidelong glance.

"Don't give me that look."

"Was this girl stupid? You practically radiate homosexual." And European. Weird how the two seem to go hand in hand.

"I suspect she noticed, but I must have distracted her-" He pauses. "Anyway she was too good natured to question my motives."

"Not enough to not gossip about you for the entirety of the coming week though." Probably lament her experience with the gay man shopping for thongs. I would die for something that funny to talk about at the company. Jason sure as hell would laugh.

"Quite."

We grab our coats and make our way down the stairs. I'm dreading bumping into any neighbors. It would only confirm apartment wide assumptions as to the nature of Charles and I's relationship. The two of us scantily clad. 'On their way to a gay bar for a date.' I'd think the same thing.

But we're not. And I'm not enjoying either of us being dressed like this.

"God damn it's fucking cold." Yet one of the reasons to loath this outfit.

"Yes, good thing. The trench coats really do pull the look together don't you think?" As if to prove his point some community kid catcalls us from across the street. Charles waves at him in a flirting way and the kid runs off.

"How insulting."

"Well can't speak for him but you probably aren't the best looking of the neighborhood prostitutes."

"And you are?"

"Obviously." I'm quite confident that I'm the most attractive person for the next six blocks.

Charles bites his lip and we continue on in silence.

I can feel him look at me from behind. Can't he be a bit more discreet? He better not be looking at my butt.

The club's neon spills over the dirty concrete in an unfriendly way. No windows and gratified brick and mortar.

Seedy. Just how Raven would like it.

"Nice location." Charles ignores me and walks through the soundproof door. Awful music buzzes through my skull. I think it's that Nikki Minaj character. Her ass is unbelievable. So is her music.

"Hey Professor!" Hank's getting up from a curtained alcove and waving franticly.

"Oh god Charles, why didn't you think about the consequences of seeing the other tarts?" Goddamnit. I hadn't even thought of that. And here's Hank in a skimpy leotard. Awful.

"I was much too concerned with seeing you as one." Charles dances away through the people grinding against one another before I can respond. Too bad, I had something to say to that.

"So, where's the woman of the hour?" Charles awkwardly hugs Hank.

"She went to the bathroom!"

"Stop shouting. We're right here." Honestly.

Hank looks up at me and takes a step back, taking in the wig.

"Is that you Erik?" he snickers. The prick. "Didn't recognize you."

Funny, I recognized him, and thought he looked completely at home in that getup.

I slide off the trench coat. "That was the point." Like I'd want anyone recognizing me in this.

"I certainly recognize you." Charles and I turn.

"Damn boys, look at those legs."

"Raven, what'd you do to your costume?" Hank sounds nervous.

"Yes Raven, you're supposed to be a vicar." Charles pouts.

"No offense Charles, but I refuse to cover myself up at a club. Besides," she tosses her hair around. I mustn't blatantly stare. "It's my birthday and I want some attention." What else could she want wearing a bustier and tight leather pants?

"Well you certainly have it." I smile suggestively, but then remember that this is Charles sister. Would complicate the rent if I pulled something. He gives me an annoyed look.

Raven laughs. "Yeah, well, mine is nothing compared to you guys. Look at the raised eyebrows you three are getting."

"We look like faggots." The hot pants are ridding up again. And the wig is itchy as hell.

"I think I look smashing." Charles sways his hips.

"You would." I frown at him.

"But Raven, a minute ago you were wearing…."

"Yeah, I wore this underneath and tossed the vicar outfit back into your car." She dangles some keys to a Toyota in front of Hanks face.

"When'd you…." Hank takes the keys.

"I have magic fingers." Raven gives him an evil little grin. I'm liking her more and more.

I scrath my head.

"Take that thing off, it's awful." Raven reaches up and tries to snatch the wig off the top of my head.

"Don't do that, he's never looked more beautiful." Charles grins at me.

"What're you, some dirty old man?" I throw the thing across the booth. End of discussion.

As we sit I survey the room. There are about fifty people on the small dance floor and six at the bar. Another three at a pool table in the corner. I dig through the pocket of the coat and pull out a gift wrapped mess. Never was good at aesthetics when it came to these things.

"Where'd you guys get all that stuff anyway?" Raven gestures to Charles leather top.

"Charles here already had most of it." I glance at him with a smile. "Just had to spring for the heels and wig."

"And my lovely panties."

"Eww, Charles." Raven looks horrified. If only she knew what I caught him looking at sometimes on the internet.

"Don't ask questions you aren't prepared to hear the answer too."

Raven starts swaying in her seat to some hiphop, dubstep remix of the techno remix, song blaring overhead. Going to have a goddamn headache tomorrow. Plus it smells of unwashed alcoholics. Not exactly potpourri.

"Glad to see we're not the most ridiculous looking of the group." Alex walks up with the rest of the party.

"You are pretty close though. A corset? Christ Alex, even we didn't go that far." Really glad Charles hadn't thought of that.

Sean, Angel, and Darwin sit round us. Darwin's donning modest booty shorts and a muscle shirt. Sean's in a see through mesh tank with a skirt that shows off way too much. And Angel, well, she's essentially dressed in her work outfit.

God damn this party theme.

God damn Charles.

"What the hell? Why are the guys the only ones that followed the dress code?" Alex sits down all disgruntled. "Where are the vicars?"

"Why, are you complaining about the view?" Angel leans forward dangerously.

"No, just seems unfair." Shit, the hot pants are riding up again. How can women stand this? Right, they don't have penises.

"Just ticked that we dressed as tarts for nothing."

I lean back and put an arm around Charles and Raven. "Not for nothing, least it's memorable. So where's this keg you were talking about Charles?" Alcohol. That's what we need. Cause in all honesty, I'm not sure if I want to remember the ginger hair on Sean's legs.

"Ah right, be back in a jiff." He springs up and goes up to the bartender. God, he's so damn pale he nearly glows in the lights.

The others chat akwardly while Raven figets with her hair.

"Have you noticed anything weird with Charles lately?" She whispers into my ear all of a sudden. Her breath makes hairs on my neck stand on end.

"I suppose. He's been a little jumpy and keeps disappearing without telling me where he's been." Not to mention talking about death. That was textbook definition weird.

"Yeah, same here. Keeps visiting me and looking at old pictures too."

"Maybe he's going through a midlife crisis." I laugh shallowly. "No worries, just focus on your party." Charles needs to stop making people worry, especially on their birthdays. He's probably just stressing over his school work. He's married to his dissertation.

"No problem." She turns away from me. Glad we're not talking about it anymore, gives me an, an almost worried feeling. "So where are all my gifts?" The chatter ceases as everyone pulls forth ribboned bags and small boxes. Mine looks inadequate. Who knows, if Raven's ashamed of money then maybe she'll appreciate the Spartan quality.

"Anyone order a keg?" Charles plops down next to Raven and kisses her on the forehead. Bout time. The men carrying it over stared, so would I.

"Ah shit! Excited to get plastered?" Sean looks fondly at the keg.

"Like it's the first time she's ever drank." Darwin winks at her.

"Having an older brother with a taste for liquor has assured that I am no novice when it comes to alcohol." She grabs for the nozzle.

"Maybe, but your taste is still horrendous." Charles helps her.

"Your taste isn't all that great either Charles. All you stock the apartment with is cheap scotch." Fucking dreadful.

"But Erik, all you like is whiskey and vodka, hardly my cup of tea."

"Your right, too rough for you." He'd puke it all out with that weak stomach.

"Oh, never my friend." He winks and the group laughs. His flirting's more inept then his appreciation for fine draughts.

Soon a server from the bar drops off a round of shots and the party's under way. The kids go shot after shot and I envy their enthusiasm, cause I don't seem to have much for anything other than welding. Now I'm sounding like I'm going through a midlife crisis. I need a girlfriend. Or at least sex.

I'm not sure if I should stop, but my face feels hot. Probably not enough since I'm still aware of my suffering libido.

Raven's digging through her presents, giggling at the array of Spencer sex toys and naughty cards. Having the humor of a twelve year old must be fantastic. She punches my arm when she opens mine. "Hangover remedies and cocktail recipes? Shit Erik, I won't even be able to look at this when I wake up. Gonna be way too hung-over." Her laugh is a staccato trill.

"D-don't worry raven, I'll take care of you." Hank leans against her, and gives her a peck on the cheek. Hank should be drunk all the time.

I lean back against the rubbery seat. That's how my legs feel right now. Rubbery. The seat squeaks as Charles scoots closer.

"Are you enjoying yourself my friend?" Now I am. The others have gone to dance off the alcohol. Charles and I sit here with it setting fire to our stomachs and veins. We're too old and bitter to fit in. Not to mention intelligent and handsome.

"Yeah, just shouldn't drive. Good thing we always walk everywhere."

"Does wonders for the butt."

"Sure does. You nice and plastered yet?"

"Getting close, maybe some more drinks are in order?" He raises his glass. I follow suit.

"Alright then" I pause for dramatic effect. "Here's to living a long life full of booze and friends." I clink Charles glass and down the bitter in one gulp. Damn I'm good. Charles stares into his, swirling it around.

"What up Charles? Drink. I tried especially hard to make up that cheesy toast, you better drink to it."

He smiles at me and sips the rum. Whatever.

I lean back and try to keep my vision straight. The seat squeaks again and Charles is right next to me, almost too close, eyes borrowing a hole into the far off ceiling.

"Charles, what's wrong. You've been acting weird for a while now." Not that I care. Cause I don't really. Raven just has a right to know and I have a right to not have him talking about weird ass shit all the time.

I can't quite identify the expression he has on right now.

"There's nothing wrong." His voice breaks on wrong.

"Bullshit." He just downs more of the rum and avoids the topic. He's been doing that a lot lately, and it's kinda ticking me off.

"I'm more concerned about you right now Erik, you're swaying a lot."

"Stop trying to change the subject." But now that he mentions it, the room is tilting rather like a boat. Is it the room or me?

Or maybe we're in some sort to alternate universe, where I have magical powers and people can communicate telepathically. That would certainly come in handy right now.

But he's distracting me. Back to his problems.

Knowing him it's not even that bad. Something totally blown out of proportion by his stupid head. He thinks too much. He's probably just had his thesis rejected.

Actually, that's probably it. The great mystery behind the last two weeks.

Poor guy, those scholarly types can be cruel.

"You know, it's okay to cry about it. I promise I won't even call you a faggot if you do." But I'll definitely think it. I pat his shoulder and chuckle.

He's looking at me like I've just said Patrick Stewart was a better captain.

"What?" Maybe I have something on my face. He just keeps staring with a dumb doe eyed look.

"You know?" Why is he whispering?

"I could guess. I mean, you've been on the computer none stop and acting weird. Not to mention getting sick all the time." Grad students. Don't know why they put themselves through it.

I mean, his whole life revolves around double helix's and chromosomes. Not exactly healthy.

He turns away quickly, but then back again. "Why haven't you said anything?" His voice is shaking. Why can't he be stronger than this. Almost makes me feel bad for him. It's just a paper.

"Well it's not really any of my business, plus I don't really know the details." Now he's rubbing his temples. "Jesus Charles, don't blow it out of proportion."

"How can I not? It's not like it'll just go away."

"It can if you-"

"And what do you mean it's not any of your business? I mean, we'll have to deal with it for a few months minimum." His voice is rising.

"Months?" It's going to take him months to get over this? I can't take another month of this. He's fucking bat shit crazy.

"At least you know. That's a load off my mind." He sighs and almost smiles. He ignored me.

"Months? It'll take that long for you to get over it? Come on Charles, just start over again and make them wish they hadn't rejected it in the first place."

"That's not how it works-wait-what are you talking about?"

"You're rejected thesis." Obviously. We've been talking about it for the past whatever minutes. I could be doing something better with my time. Like flirting with the lose woman on the dance floor.

I hear laughter. And not the normal kind. It sounds hysterical. Like someone's about to cry.

"What the hell Charles?"

"You thought that my thesis had been rejected? My thesis? I fine-tuned that thing to be near fucking perfect. I thought you were highly perceptive, but I guess I was off."

My fist clenches and I shove aside my glass. I faintly register the sound of glass shattering onto the sticky floor.

"Well then what the hell's been eating you for the past two weeks? And don't insult me." I feel like punching him. It's irrational and unfounded, but that booze sure can make you feel.

Charles settles into the seat and holds his head in his hands.

"I have cancer."

Raven and Hank are making out against the wall, and the others are dancing. They haven't heard.

I don't even think I heard.

"You shouldn't joke about something like that. It's fucked up." I really hope it's just that. Then I can laugh and tease him about his insensitivity.

Just deny it. But he's staring past me, looking at Raven and the others. He won't look at me and it just makes me angrier.

"Not joking." It's true. I know, he still won't look at me. It feels weird being told something so serious while drunk. I can't seem to voice any opinion what so ever. But my arms shake.

Denial and acceptance. He wouldn't joke about something like this. The signs too. Makes a hell of a lot more sense than the damn thesis thing.

He should've told me.

He didn't tell me.

I should've noticed.

For two weeks. I had two weeks, or at least that's what I can guess from his combination sad, guilty look.

My fist makes contact with something. For a second I'm afraid I'm being belligerent, but then realize its Charles' face that I've hit.

Good. He deserves it.

"Ah bloody hell Erik!" Charles clutches his nose.

"What the hell you doin' to my brother?" Raven stumbles over to the booth and comes between us. I'm standing now. Not sure when that happened.

As Raven nurses her sibling, cursing me under her breath, club patrons look at me wearily, and a horrifying thought crosses my mind.

"But what'll happen to your hair?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long. writers block/school and work. its a hardnaughtlife
> 
> please review and kick my butt for not updating. it's great motivation.

**Author's Note:**

> You should review. Tell me all your love, and especially your hate. Please, it makes this way more fun.


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